


A Bridge

by ThatAj



Series: Exposure: One Step at a Time [18]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, POV First Person, POV Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk), Panic Attacks, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship Discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:32:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18016145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatAj/pseuds/ThatAj
Summary: I stood there on the patio and sipped my coffee, staring off at nothing much in particular. It was late enough that it was light out but early enough that the marine layer hadn’t burned off yet and with the cloudy sky and the slight chill in the air, I could believe it was Thanksgiving week.Justin and Brian travel to the Bay Area for Thanksgiving with Daphne.





	A Bridge

I slid open the large glass sliding door and walked out to the backyard. The floors of the ground floor were all flagstone and extended outside the house to create a back patio. I stood there on the patio and sipped my coffee, staring off at nothing much in particular. It was late enough that it was light out but early enough that the marine layer hadn’t burned off yet and with the cloudy sky and the slight chill in the air, I could believe it was Thanksgiving week. I felt Brian’s arms snake around me and his chin dig into my shoulder and he took the coffee from my hand and drank some - even though there was plenty still in the pot. I twisted slightly and took him in - his hair all pushed to the side with a terrible case of bedhead, scratchy stubble over his face, his ratty but super soft undershirt, and sweatpants that I honestly didn’t know if they had always been his, if they had been mine, or if they had started as his until I took them and then he stole them back from me. Brian is incredibly good-looking. Which, duh, right? And he is also incredibly aware of it too and super annoying at times. But as hot as he is in his fuck-me club clothes, as gorgeous as he is in his business suits, and nobody looks as good in a suit as Brian, I think he’s most beautiful just like this. Because this is the Brian only I see. This is the reason I never believed Brian at the beginning when he told me he didn’t care, when I was told by everyone that Brian didn’t do boyfriends or whatever. Brian let me see him disheveled and not perfectly “I’d fuck me” coiffed and I knew, I knew I was different somehow. And it felt like a Very Special Secret that I had to keep from everyone but especially from Brian. Brian is fine doing things unless he realizes he’s doing them or realizes that others notice him doing them. I let out a soft happy sigh and leaned back into him. 

“I’m thinking a pool,” Brian said, gesturing to the backyard with his chin and his hand that was still holding my cup of coffee. 

I grabbed the mug back from him and took a sip. “A pool?”

“Yeah. Why have a house with a yard in Southern California and not have a pool? We have enough space for something - not too big, maybe with a tanning ledge.”

He was right. We had space beyond the patio that would have been great for a garden or something if either of us had any interest. 

“Sure, why not?” I handed him back the mug and let him polish off the coffee. I turned and walked back to the house to get ready. We were supposed to get on the road this morning, after rush hour died down as much as it ever does in this city, and start driving north. The plan had been to drive all the way to San Francisco in one day but after the seizure, Brian suddenly suggested we stop overnight in Santa Barbara, mentioning something about a winery and an ad campaign. 

Brian thinks he’s really subtle when he’s worried about me and maybe that’s because he compares himself to the Novotny brand of just ordering us home for Thanksgiving or even my mom’s comparatively polite “oh honey are you sure…?” I wished we didn’t have to tell anyone back in Pitts about the seizure because their worry definitely made Brian more worried, which I would have thought was impossible but it turns out not at all. It’s like they validated for him that there was a need to be worried. 

I guess in comparison to the frantic phone calls, pleads to come home for the holiday, and Debbie’s insistence that it was, in fact, possible to ship lasagna, Brian thought he was inscrutable. Brian always thinks he’s inscrutable. He’s not. Changing our trip itinerary, finding me a new psychiatrist who did genetic testing, and generally avoiding touching my scar when he washed my hair or played with my hair after we fucked (not cuddling, foreplay for our next fuck, he had corrected me once when I was nineteen) was glaringly obvious, to me at least. And the fucking in even greater frequency than usual and generally not talking about anything even tangentially related to medications (he left a printout of the psychiatrist’s contact information on my desk, real subtle Brian), seizures, the bashing, or prom. He actually left the room while I was talking to Molly about her plans to attend the St. James’ homecoming dance. And then there was the retail therapy, of which the pool was the latest example. I figured the road trip would give Brian an opportunity to get out what needed to be said. Because it’s not like Brian doesn’t have a need to discuss things. As much as he would like to believe he’s different, he’s still human. He just discusses things one sentence at a time over long periods of time and after he’s given a good faith effort to avoid talking. The scenic route up the coast would give him those necessary long periods of time. Plus driving was a good excuse to not have to make eye contact. We’re probably going to be one hundred before we actually discuss everything we need to discuss. I can’t wait. 

We took Sunset down to the Pacific Coast Highway. Every so often it struck me that I regularly drove down Sunset Blvd, Hollywood Blvd, these streets lined by towering palm trees and the stuff of movies. We were passing Malibu by the time Brian finally spoke about anything more than the traffic and I had relaxed to the purr of the Corvette, which we had decided to take instead of my Jeep because in Brian’s mind there was nothing more iconic than driving up the coast in a classic car, even if that classic car was not a convertible. 

“So we should probably register as domestic partners when we get back.” Trust Brian to avoid any warm up and to just jump into the deep end. I shrugged non-committedly. “That’s your response? I thought this was everything you ever wanted.”

“Sure when I was a teenager.” 

“You were a teenager just yesterday, sonny boy.” He smirked at me. “And you still act like one most of the time.”

I leaned against the headrest and closed my eyes for a moment. “Sure, okay, whatever. Let’s do it, if that’s what you want.”

“I expected a bit more enthusiasm.”

I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Yipee,” I said flatly. “I know we have to protect ourselves legally and I guess it’s better than marriage.”

Brian huffed out a laugh, “That’s some scale - ‘better than marriage.’ Ha! And yeah, we do need to protect ourselves, I don’t know why we didn’t do it sooner.” He shot a pointed look at me and I knew he blamed me for this oversight. Sure it had crossed my mind and then I immediately dismissed it because you try bringing up a topic with the word “domestic” in it to Brian. No thank you. And also because while in the abstract it made sense for all the reasons Brian wanted to do it now, I just didn’t think we would be in a situation where it would be a necessity. Brian would probably laugh at that and point out that such trust in invincibility - both mine and his - was evidence for how much like a teenager I still was and also incredibly naïve given the experiences I had had - not only my own, and not only Brian’s, but Ben’s and Vic’s and Darren’s and… well the list could go on. I closed my eyes again, but just for a moment since it made me carsick. 

“You know it will only be valid in California,” I stated.

“Good excuse as any to not return to Pittsburgh for Christmas,” he returned. 

I glanced at him. “I thought we were planning on going for the holidays?”

Brian stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Yeah no doubt Debbie and your mommy will have my remaining ball if I keep their Sunshine from them any longer.”

“No doubt. Also, it will be weird to be here for Christmas. What are we going to do? Put lights on the palm tree?” 

“Fuck no.”

“Well then, let’s go to Pittsburgh as planned. Debbie and my mom can mother me, you can make sure that Kinnetik hasn’t burned to the ground and maintain your twenty year tradition of personally congratulating the winner of the Stocking Stuffer Contest at Babylon.” Plus I knew he had already begun shopping for Gus’s Hanukkah presents, as the holiday butted up against Christmas this year and we would were planning to be back in Pitts early enough to celebrate, not waiting for the sales like the rest of us suckers. And Michael was probably waiting for Brian to get high and have a junk food feast at some dragon movie at the cinema. Brian seemed to believe that calories don’t count if consumed while stoned. Let Brian live in his staunch belief that he is immune to any sentimentality pertaining to human relations and emotions. 

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Fifteen year tradition.”

“Apologies. Fifteen year.”

Brian cleared his throat. “So, uh, the office for Secretary of State is right by the MOCA.” He knew that there was a Rothko exhibit that had just opened that I had been excited to see. I turned to see him roll his lips in and his eyes crinkle and he glanced at me while I grinned at him. The domestic partnership was a business decision and, in the past, I would have attached much more emotion to it. But let the world keep their papers, Brian Kinney offering to spend an afternoon at a museum with me...scratch that...Brian Kinney knowing there was an exhibit I was dying to see… if I could go back in time to seventeen-, eighteen-year-old Justin, I would tell him to hang on, it would all be worth it. “That’s more like it,” Brian muttered to himself. 

I felt my grin grow wider. “Can we go to Grand Central Market?” It was an old, huge, indoor food hall with nearly 40 different vendors.

“Christ, art and food. You are so goddamn easy.” Brian complained.

“Lucky for you.”

“Yeah, lucky for me.” Brian was silent for a bit and then said quietly, “I just don’t want to ever feel like I can’t get to you.”

I willfully ignored the demand that I stay silent that was radiating off of Brian and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Don’t you fucking do that.” Brian said through gritted teeth. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me for something that happened to you.” 

I shut up for a bit after that and fiddled with the dial on the radio, even though I knew it pissed Brian off. I finally spoke. “I’m glad we’re getting the partnership, Brian. I am. It’s stupid to think we don’t need that protection.”

“Yeah, well.” Super eloquent, this guy. 

“Plus, now I can finally say I’m the guy who domesticated Brian Kinney.” He groaned at that as I knew he would. 

“We’re going to have to put a quota on how many of those jokes you’re allowed to make...and to whom.”

“Ohhhh like a prenuptial agreement?” I snorted and saw the smile fade on Brian’s lips. 

“Yeah, well, you should know, everything is already going to you. Your name is already on everything except Gus’s trust and the life insurance.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“Fuck thanking me, who else is it going to go to? I’m not leaving it to the GLC.” I turned and smirked at him. “I want to be able to die in peace knowing that you’re going to be able to afford to stay in Crayolas and paper.” He paused. “Even with this domestic partnership, there would still be an inheritance tax. Ted’s set up a separate account to make sure that’s taken care of.”

I shifted a bit in my seat. Talking about mortality, especially Brian’s, made me uncomfortable. “Seriously, Brian, thank you. And before you say anything,” I cut him off as he opened his mouth. “Thank you for always taking care of me, making sure I’m going to be okay.” He shut his mouth and glanced out the window at the water and then back to the road. 

We arrived at the winery before too long and I stayed in the car while Brian got out to check us in and get the keys to our suite. I was exhausted - the anticonvulsants I was on while I tapered off the Wellbutrin made me super fucking fatigued. Brian drove us over to the building on the property where our suite was located and I hardly remember getting out of the car and flopping onto the bed but that’s where I woke up about an hour later with a blanket pulled over me. I got up groggily and joined Brian out on the patio where there was an awning and heat lamp protecting us from the damp fog that was descending along with the sun. He had a few bottles of wine produced both at the vineyard where we were staying and at other local wineries, two glasses already poured, and several plates of small bites. He looked up when I walked out and placed his arm on the back of the wooden swing where he was sitting in a silent invitation for me to join him. I sat next to him and rested my head on the spot right where his shoulder met his chest that always seemed designed to fit me perfectly. His arm dropped from the back of the swing and onto my shoulders and his pulled me more tightly into himself. 

We sat in comfortable silence for awhile. Like all the words had already been used up for the day. I’m sure one of us must have stood up first but I swear to god it happened at the same time. Despite my nap, I was still tired, or I was tired again, not that it really mattered. The wine was making me feel warm and fuzzy and generally pleasant. I stripped off my clothes and got between the crisp clean covers. Brian got in beside me and turned to face me while I laid on my stomach, my head turned in his direction, my eyes closed just enjoying everything. He tentatively let his fingers brush against my scar. I don’t really have any feeling on the scar itself but I could feel the warm pads of his fingertips on either side. I opened my eyes slightly and looked at him from under where my hair had fallen in my face and smiled. He brushed the hair out of my eyes, never mind that it just fell right back where it had been, and returned to brushing his fingertips over my scar, his face gentle. He shifted his body so he was laying directly on top of me. I was far too exhausted for sex, which, believe me, never happens but I didn’t say anything because I knew, somehow, that this wasn’t sexual. He placed his arms on either side of my head and rested his head on top of mine like it was a bony, hairy pillow. I felt so safe beneath him like he was protecting me from the world, like he was my suit of armor. I closed my eyes again and let myself drift on all the sensations until I fell asleep. 

When I think back to after the bashing and going to live with Brian, I think about how much I longed for his worry. Like his worry was evidence of how he really felt, what he wasn’t saying. It was something that was easy for me to understand when everything else made no sense at all, least of all Brian. I wanted something that proved how he felt about me, something I could wear like a badge to prove to everyone, to prove to myself, that I wasn’t crazy. That there was something between us. But now? The thought that he’s worried about me feels terrible. And the private moments we have when he shows me what he feels? The idea of sharing them with anyone feels gross. And I no longer measure love by worry. 

The next day Brian woke me up way too early and we continued to drive up the coast. Everyone back in Pittsburgh had chipped in and purchased us a GPS each when we moved to help us learn our way around Los Angeles. But for this trip it was relegated to the trunk while we used an atlas. There was something about following our progress up the coast, reading off the names of tiny towns we would never actually visit, holding something in my hand, that grounded me to this moment, this time with Brian, and this life we were quietly building together. Like I said, Brian does things so long as he doesn’t notice he’s doing them and I don’t point it out to him. 

I must have fallen asleep at some point because next thing I knew I was opening my eyes at Big Sur. I blinked, adjusting to the sunlight, and Brian wordlessly handed me my sketchbook and pencils and got out of car and started walking around. I pulled my jacket on and got out of the car and quickly found a spot with an amazing view and started drawing. I don’t know how long I had been drawing when a shadow fell over my page. I looked up and Brian was gazing at me thoughtfully, biting on his lips. I glanced down and realized I had been using my left hand to support my right. I let the pencil drop on the sketchbook and shook my hand out and gave Brian what I knew was a sheepish smile. My hand hadn’t worsened or improved in years but Brian tended to notice it more - or be more bothered by it - when something else was going on with me. Brian sat beside me and grabbed my hand and started massaging it. I wondered if Brian would have ever held my hand if I had never been injured.

“Didn’t you say Quinn was teaching a course at Cal Arts next semester?” Quinn was a friend from Rage, the movie, and a Cal Arts graduate. It took me a moment to realize this question was the next sentence in a conversation we were having the day before. 

“Yeah they’re going to be adjunct faculty while the show is on hiatus.” Quinn did storyboards for an animated show for adults. Brian held out his hands like “there you go, problem solved.” “But it’s only one class, they’ll only be there two days a week. Plus, I think getting off the freeway to get to our house takes Quinn kinda out of the way.”

Brian shrugged. “So you’ll schedule your classes only on those days and we’ll pay them to chauffeur you.” 

Brian thinks everything can be solved with money and money does make many things much easier, it’s true. I guessed I could ask the office of disability services for priority registration to coordinate my classes with Quinn. When I spoke to the administrator there he had listed a number of accomodations I could request through my doctor. I shrugged back at Brian and said, “It could work. Maybe I could find an internship I could get to by bus to make up for taking fewer credits.” I did not want to fall behind, or, rather, fall further behind than I already was.

Brian smirked at me and got close, crowding me, and breathed into my ear, “You could but I would fear for the future of the Cal Arts Internship Program.” 

I shoved into him with my shoulder and he captured my lips in a deep kiss that left me breathless. And, well, car sex is never the best sex but the memories of how desperate I felt, like I couldn’t get enough of Brian, when I came back to him after Ethan, well that made it fucking hot. It felt like a punctuation mark on the conversation we had been having on and off since we left LA. And I think the relief of that came through in how almost desperately Brian grasped at my body. And I didn’t say anything because while this trip, for him, put the seizure in the rearview mirror, I was feeling anxious with this sense that something else was looming. I mostly shook it off as a side effect of tapering off the Wellbutrin.

Drawing energized me and I stayed awake the rest of the drive. We joked about stupid and silly things. The types of things that don’t translate into stories but had us laughing so hard that I snorted and Brian, his leather jacket squeaking as he shifted around, had tears running down his cheeks. The anxiety the was sliding around my brain slid to the background for those hours. We finally got to the hotel in the Castro that night and ordered a late room service. We spent Wednesday walking around and then went out that night. I had read someplace that the night before Thanksgiving is one of the biggest nights all year for bars and clubs. Brian rolled his eyes when I told him that and called me a PSA, and I didn’t even mention the high rates of DUIs! I’m not sure if it was Thanksgiving (I actually think that statistic refers to people who go home to visit their parents and go out with high school friends, which was not the scene in the Castro at all) or the clubs in the Castro were always this busy but the night was perfect. I couldn’t take any drugs per my doctor’s orders but I drank until I was warm and happy and I bounced and danced and Brian got this soft look that he gets when he’s rolling and just held onto me as best he could on the dance floor. We went to the back room several times, with each other, with others, and made out like school kids until we laughed our way back to the hotel and fell into bed at nearly 6 AM. 

By the time Daphne came over in the early evening, we had dragged ourselves out of the room long enough for housekeeping to tidy up and to get ourselves much needed coffee. I had found a well-reviewed restaurant with a Thanksgiving catering menu and placed an order weeks ago. We heated up the food according to the instructions in the suite’s kitchenette and opened wine and were somehow ready on time when there was a knock at the door. 

Within moments Daphne had me pulled into a hug against her jacket which was damp from the constant San Francisco drizzle and smelled like wet wool. We had seen each other once right after she returned from Doctors without Borders and moved into her apartment for medical school and given how far we were from Pittsburgh, San Francisco seemed relatively close and it seemed silly that we hadn’t seen each other more often but she had been busy with class and research and I had class too and a five hour drive was still a five hour drive. She squealed, “Justin!” 

“Daph!” I murmured into her curls. As much as I loved California, I still missed home. 

“Daphne, stunning as always,” Brian bent down and pecked her on a the cheek. Daphne blushed furiously and punched him on the shoulder. I was glad that I’m not the only one who has never built an immunity to the Kinney charm. Daphne shrugged out of her peacoat and let it drop on a chair. I saw Brian shake his head slightly and I imagined him thinking, “kids.” Daphne’s eyes lit up and she grabbed the bag she arrived with, “I brought you some things!” 

“Daph, you didn’t have to…” I began as she handed me a decadent looking flourless chocolate cake and Brian a bottle of Laphroaig. 

“Speak for yourself, Sunshine,” Brian interrupted. “Daphne, I’ve always said you are woman of impeccable taste.” 

“Yeah, except for in men,” she sighed and dropped onto the sofa with a dejected look on her face. 

“What did Tim do now?” We might not have seen each other often, but now that we were on the same continent, on the same coast, we talked non-stop. I had heard all the details of Tim, who was her on-again-off-again study and fuck buddy. He was far below my standards for my friend but I guessed no one would ever be good enough for Daphne in my eyes. 

“He’s a libertarian,” Daphne said with a finality that brooked no argument. I nodded sympathetically, doing that head tilt that my therapist does when I share something particularly difficult. 

“Uh, you’ve lost me Daph,” Brian said. “That means he’s liberal on social stuff, right? He supports the rights of queer assimilationists to assimilate.”

“Brian,” Daphne spoke slowly as though she were talking to a small child. “Economic policy is social policy. You can’t separate the two. It means he’s against homophobia. But it doesn’t mean anything to support the gay community, for instance, if you don’t support funding programs to ensure accessible healthcare for those with HIV/AIDS.” Daphne had been working with AIDS populations with Doctors without Borders and had begun a position in a research lab at UCSF that was investigating a potential vaccine. She was considering adding a Ph.D. to the M.D. she was currently pursuing and ensuring she would be in school for the rest of our lives. Her whole career was pinned on funding for those social programs. “Plus when we argued, it was like he didn’t think I knew what the fuck I was talking about. He was always explaining things to me that I know better than him. Good lord, I thought medical school created god-complexes in doctors, but no those fuckers self-select in.” 

Brian nodded sagely, “Well fuck him then. He didn’t deserve you.” 

Daphne responded, “I know.” She always knew her worth. “Justin!”

“Daphne!” 

“You’ll never guess who I ran into! Who’s living in the Bay!” 

“Who?” I couldn’t think of anyone we knew that she thought I would be excited to hear about.

“Sam Pike!” Oh. Sam.

“Who’s Sam?” Brian asked.

“Justin never told you about Sam? His first crush?” Daphne’s eyes widened. 

Brian looked at me, eyebrows raised, “First crush?” He looked back to Daphne. “Daphne, start talking. Leave nothing out. Justin,” he addressed me without looking back to me. “Go grab the food and bring it here with the plates.” 

I got up and headed to the kitchenette, realizing I was powerless to stop the force of Brian and Daphne combined. I called over my shoulder, “How did you know I had a crush on him? I never told you!”

I looked over the counter and saw Brian and Daphne exchange a look and burst out laughing. “You goose! I know you like to think you’re some sort of enigma, wrapped in a puzzle, and shrouded by mystery, but have you seen your face? There’s nothing about you that I don’t know and your face is the biggest tell.” She turned to Brian. “So. Sam was a year ahead of us and so adorable - all curls and lips - and Justin would stare at him like a dreamy school boy.”

“Ah yes, I’m familiar with that dreamy school boy stare.” God they made me sound like a Care Bear.

“Yeah, well, three years of pining and, of course, nothing happened.” I walked back over, setting the food and plates on the coffee table. “He graduated and I went down to Liberty Avenue and the rest is history. Are we done reliving Justin’s youth?” 

“You say youth like it’s past tense.” Brian pulled me down next to him and slung his arm around my shoulders. “And, no, we’re not. Did you also fill sketchbooks with this Sam guy?” 

I knew my blush gave myself away. “Well, not his cock.”

“Sam’s how Justin knew he was gay.” Seriously, I could never hide anything from her. 

“You didn’t always know?” Brian asked 

“No...I mean I know that’s the popular narrative and I always knew I was different but I thought it was just that I liked art and books and not sports. There were some guys I liked, but I thought I wanted to be like them, not be with them.” I shrugged. 

Brian nodded, knowingly. “Ah yes, the old ‘do-be-do-be-do’ phenomenon. I’ve heard of it.” Of course, Brian was never unsure of whether he want to be someone or do them. He always wanted to do them and there was no one he would rather be than Brian Kinney. And thank fuck for that.

“But when I met Sam...I guess I realized what I felt was what everyone was describing when they said they had a crush on someone.” I realized my voice had gone kinda soft and this is what Daphne meant when she said I gave everything away. I cleared my throat. “So what is Sam doing in the Bay? He went to...Bucknell?”

“No, Dickinson.” Daphne corrected. 

“The Law School?” Brian asked.

“No, there’s a college there too. I guess he studied film and he’s working on a documentary about gentrification in San Jose. He said he ran into you a couple of years ago.”

I blushed again. “Yeah that was...right before my internship at VanGard.” 

Brian’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “And…?”

“Oh it was totally pathetic. He was in a relationship and I was...heartbroken.” Daphne mouthed “you” and pointed at Brian, who nodded slightly. “And we got drunk and confessed that we both liked each other in high school and agreed that nothing could happen now.” 

“Ah poor Sunshine,” Brian drawled.

I shrugged. “Not really.” Brian’s hands moved to my hair and he scratched my scalp the way he knows I love it. I hadn’t thought about Sam in years, not much anyway. I truly didn’t mind that nothing had ever happened. Reality rarely matches up with myth and I had somehow had the fortune to be with someone who was, in fact, greater than the sum of his parts. He gave me everything before I knew what I wanted. And god, how I wanted this life with him. No, I didn’t regret that nothing ever happened with Sam. 

We finished off the bottles of wine Brian had purchased for the dinner and were passing around the scotch Daphne had brought. Laphroaig wasn’t really meant to be drunk in this way but I was enjoying the smoky burn and the drifting in and out of the conversation. Daphne was telling us about her research assistantship and I noticed Brian had fallen asleep, his head in my lap. I grinned and pointed down at him and Daphne clasped her hands over her mouth, holding in giggles. I’m not entirely sure what we found so hilarious about Brian falling asleep except we were tipsy and anything would have been humorous. Daphne launched into more details of her research. She was on a longitudinal study investigating the serostatus of men who have sex with men recruited from websites specifically for men looking to bareback. As a first year med student, her job was to interview the participants about their drug use and sexual behaviors. She had another fit of giggles reciting the parts of the structured interview asking…

She cleared her throat and adopted a professional tone. “In the last thirty days, have you performed analingus for the purpose of removing ejaculate, otherwise known as ‘felching?’” 

I bit back a laugh and shook my head, mostly at Daphne’s professional voice, trying to imagine her as a doctor. She giggled again, “Felching! Where did they get that term?” 

“You would know better than I would, Daph.” I shook my head again.

“You’ve never…?” Her eyes were wide and curious.

“No! I’ve never fucked without protection. You know that.” I felt my forehead wrinkle. 

“Not even with..” Daphne was already whispering but dropped her voice even lower and I could barely hear her but the context was enough.

My face tensed in disgust. “No! We were barely together long enough…” And, I thought but didn’t add because Daphne was like a dog with a bone and would question me and I still wasn’t sure I understood it myself, but the whole thing with Ethan had always felt temporary. All the vestiges of long-term monogamy never crossed my mind. 

“What about you and Brian?”

“What about us?”

“Well would you ever…”

“You know we’re not monogamous!”

“Right, still, some couples in open relationships, with their primary partner…”

“Still nothing. Brian would never…”

“But would you? Would you want to?”

“No, honestly, I’ve not really ever thought about it. I would never, could never, put Brian at that kind of risk - “ I held up my hands to keep Daphne from spewing statistics “ - no matter how small the risk is.” And sure there had been a time when I wanted...well times when I wanted a lot of different things that I had since outgrown. 

Daphne grinned at me and I knew she understood. She sighed and pushed herself out of the armchair she was in. “I should get going.”

“No, it’s late, you’ve been drinking. I’ll get Brian into the bedroom and you can stay on the couch.” I laid his head down on the sofa and got up. 

Daphne rolled her eyes. “As tempting as it sounds… I’d really rather spend the night at home with the benefit of my toothbrush and jimjams.”

I snorted at her use of our old term from the days of our sleepovers in elementary school. “Okay, but here, let me get you money for a cab and just promise to call when you get in?” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice but I knew I would panic unless I was certain she got home safely.

“Keep your money but I will call.” 

“Okay then. Safe home.”

She kissed my cheek and left.

I knew the door locked automatically but despite the progress I had made at home and despite not being concerned about the lock either of the two previous nights, I stood at the door checking and rechecking that the deadbolt was secured. Something had set me on edge and I wasn’t sure what. My mind was hazy with the wine and scotch and I wasn’t thinking much, just acting. Over and over. And over. The buzzing of my cell phone in my pocket pulled me out of the state I had slipped into. I flipped it open and saw “Daph” on the display. “Hey.”

“Hey. So I’m home.”

“Good. ‘Night.”

“G’night Justin. Thanks for inviting me today.”

“Of course.” I hung up and looked over to see Brian’s head pop up from the sofa. He looked around blinking until his eyes landed on me and he smiled. 

“What was that?” Brian’s voice was thick with sleep.

“Just Daphne letting me know she got in okay.” I walked away from the door, giving the lock one more look, and sat next to him. 

He looked around as though looking for Daphne. “She should’ve stayed the night here.”

“I tried to get her to, but she wanted to sleep at home.” I gestured with my hands as if to indicate that there’s no convincing Daphne once she’s made up her mind. 

“And what are you doing?” Brian cocked his head.

“Just, uh, tidying up.” I lied. The dishes and glasses were all still out everywhere and housekeeping would be coming the next day anyway. Brian’s eyes shifted back over to the door and his lips rolled between his teeth. I looked at him and did that slow blinking thing that gets him distracted. He stood up suddenly and took my hand and pulled me up too. He lifted me in a fireman’s hold and carried me to the bedroom and fucked the worry right out of me. 

I woke a few hours later in a cold sweat from a nightmare. I blinked my eyes as they adjusted to the bedside light that Brian had just turned on. I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my forehead on my knees as I tried to catch my breath. I felt the mattress shift as Brian got up and and went into the bathroom. Shit! The nightmare had been about that night at Sapperstein’s. I hadn’t thought about that in years. I felt Brian’s hand lightly on my shoulder, cautious in case I wasn’t ready to be touched yet. I lifted my head and leaned into his hand and arm. He handed me a glass of water and I drank some of it. 

“Okay?” Brian’s voice was deep and gentle, as it always is after a nightmare. 

“Yeah.” I sighed. I didn’t know what had brought on the nightmare but there wasn’t always a trigger. Maybe it was stuffing myself like a Thanksgiving turkey and all the drinks. I was still panting and I heard Brian in the bathroom again. He showed up in front of me with a pill, which I dutifully swallowed. I pulled on his hand so he would lay back down on the bed next to me. I rested my head on the spot above his armpit - it was a perfect spot, softer than his pectorals and where I could inhale that scent that was all Brian. He started playing with my hair. This was our typical position after a nightmare and the ritual of it calmed me almost as much as being held by Brian. In this position I knew that everything was going to okay, that I was going to feel better, that the panic was temporary, because it had been the case every other time. There was something nagging at me about the nightmare but that’s not terribly unusual. I tried not to focus on it and focused instead on Brian’s fingers in my hair, the slightly spicy scent of his pheromones mixed with his deodorant and cologne, and the smoothness of his skin under mine. 

“Want to talk about it?” Brian’s voice floated up from underneath me.

I shook my head “no” and knew Brian wouldn’t question it. I didn’t usually want to talk about my nightmares, mostly because they didn’t vary much. This one was out of the ordinary but I couldn’t talk to Brian about it because Brian didn’t know and I was terrified what his reaction would be. I felt certain he would get angry and, even when it’s not directed at me, and honestly it’s rarely directed at me, it’s still scary. I could remember back before that was the case, Brian yelling at me after catching me dancing in his shirt when I could just laugh it off, but that was no longer me. I also knew that what had happened wasn’t my fault, rationally there was no reason for Brian to be angry at me for that party, but I felt that it was my fault and I was angry, still, at myself for being so desperate to prove myself as an adult and, mostly, for being so naïve even after the world had shown me how dangerous it was. Who takes a bat to the head only to put himself in the type of situation I got into with the Sap? I guess that was the same naïveté that made me think we didn’t need the protections of a domestic partnership. 

I must have eventually fallen asleep because next thing I knew I smelled coffee and felt Brian’s warm breath on my neck. I opened one eye. “You made coffee?”

“I did.” Brian looked at me from under his eyelashes and I could wake up this way every morning. 

“Hmmmph.” I groaned, still half-asleep. “”D’ju bring me a cup?”

“What do I get if I did?” Brian teased.

“What could I possibly give you that you don’t already own.” I was moving slowly that morning. Brian just stared at me. “Oh. Right. Coffee first, okay?” He handed me my mug. 

We were finally out the door around early afternoon, which was typical for us on vacation. Since most things weren’t open due to the holiday, we spent much of the day walking in Golden Gate park, including walking across the bridge. The wind was whipping all around us, making it hard to take a full breath, and the air was cold in a way that made my lungs hurt. Sometimes panic starts with something emotional and sometimes it starts from something physical. I was struggling to breath in the same way I would if I were panicking and suddenly I was panicking. Even though I knew, I  _ knew _ I couldn’t breathe because of the wind and the cold, my mind latched onto terrifying images from a trailer I had seen that spring for a movie documenting suicides from that bridge. I had left the rational part of my mind, the part that knew I didn’t want to die, that I wasn’t suicidal back on the San Francisco side of the bridge and all I had with me was the overwhelming and crushing belief that I was going to lose control and jump off the bridge. I wanted to speed up and quickly get to the other side but my heart and lungs were already working as though I was running a full out sprint. And also, I would get to the other side and then what? I couldn’t just stay in Marin County forever. At some point we would have to make our way back over. I could turn around and go back to San Francisco but we were already more than halfway over and I just want to be on land like five minutes ago. And, because it was the decision that made the least sense, I just froze in place. 

Brian must have thought I was admiring the view and assumed I would catch up with him, because he kept walking. I just needed to breath. I felt faint and, again even though my rational mind knew I couldn’t faint while having a panic attack, I really really did not want to faint on the bridge. I squatted down and put my head between my knees. Brian turned around, or something, because I heard him call my name and a moment later, his hand rested on my back between my shoulder blades. He kneeled next to me and all I could think was how cold the pavement must be through his jeans. He began to make small circles on my back and said matter of factly,  “Okay, you’re having a panic attack.” He talked me through breathing and getting up and walking to the Marin County side. We sat on a bench surrounded by other tourists. Brian produced an Ativan from his pocket and I stared at him. He shrugged his shoulders. “This high up, I figured one of us might need it.” 

I swallowed it dry and gaped at him for a bit. “I can’t believe I have to fucking walk over that thing again.”

Brian stared at me like I had grown another head. “Orrrrrr, we could just get a taxi.”

Or that. 

Once we were settled in the cab, I felt a little more relaxed. I leaned back into Brian’s arms and sighed. “Thank you, Brian. You always seem to know just what I need without making it a big fucking deal or being infantilizing or whatever. So, just, thank you.”

I looked up and saw Brian roll his lips in and look out the window. He said, “So do you think you’re still up for Chez Panisse tonight?” 

Brian’s very nuanced approach to thank yous is to pretend they never happened. 

We were planning on driving into Berkeley that night for dinner reservations and we were both excited. “Yeah I should be fine. There’s time to lie down before we need go, right?”

Brian nodded, “I could call and see if we could get a later seating?”

“No, don’t bother.”

“Sunshine, it’s a two minute phone call. Either we can or we can’t but if we can, why not have the extra time?” 

“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone,” I whispered.

“It’s inconveniencing exactly zero people.” Brian sounded bored as he does when he actually has feelings about something. I acquiesced and tried to shake my discomfort while he called the restaurant and moved our 6 PM reservation to 8 PM. Ativan does knock me out as does the parasympathetic nervous system taking over after a panic attack. I took a much needed nap and Brian and I fucked. All in all those hours were well spent and I was glad that Brian pushed back the reservation. I was glad too that we got to go since I knew how much Brian had been looking forward to it.

When we got back to the hotel, Brian started changing his clothes to clubbing clothes and I sat back on the bed and watched him. A fucking work of art. Is it any wonder I can’t stop sketching him? He finally noticed me watching him and smirked and then raised an eyebrow. “You’re not changing.” It was a statement, not a question. 

“Nah, you go. I’m exhausted.” He kept his gaze on me, unwavering. “Seriously, Brian, if I go, I’m not going to be any fun and you’ll be mad.” He was going to try to make me go. He believes if I want to stay home, I’m on the first step of a multi-step campaign for monogamy or some such shit. 

His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Shit, of course you’re tired. Do you want to just chill here? Watch a movie or something?”   
It was my turn to be confused. “I’m just gonna sleep. You go out, no need to waste your night because of me.”

He made to turn back to the closet and stopped and turned back toward me. “You’re saying I should go out, without you?”   
“Brian,” I was thoroughly confused. “We go out separately all the time at home. I’m so confused.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, standing there with his jeans unzipped and no shirt on and I definitely licked my lips. “Yeah but...this is vacation. Aren’t there special rules or something?”

“Are there? Never heard of that. Please, the idea of you just sitting in this suite while I’m asleep is depressing.” I couldn’t imagine anything worse and I wouldn’t want to just hang out either if the situation was reversed. 

“This isn’t really some test that’s going to come back and bite me in the ass later when we’re having an argument, right? I’m not going to hear about the time I left Sunshine during our couple’s Thanksgiving vacation all on his lonesome in the hotel room during his time of need?” It would be funny that Brian was concerned about this except if he was really worried, what did that say about me?

“I assure you, I am totally fine with you going out so I can get some rest. I’m actually asking you to.” Brian’s shoulders relaxed a little and I wondered if sometimes he might get mixed up about what he thinks I think and what he thinks other people in couples think. He’s learned over the years (and let’s be honest, I’ve also matured since I was all of eighteen) that the two are not identical. His default though is to assume I want what some Stepford fag would want. I guess we each, in our own way, jump to the worst case scenarios. 

He finished getting dressed while I got undressed and into bed. He leaned over me, a hand on either side of my shoulder and kissed me deeply before saying, “Later.”

“Later.” I closed my eyes except sleep refused to come. There was an agitation in my mind and body and, although I was exhausted, I couldn’t relax. Talking with Daphne, the nightmare the night before, something just felt bad. That feeling of dread that at that point should have been familiar but felt alarmingly new each time started bubble up. I knew I had to get out of there. I glanced at the clock and it was barely after 10, I had time before Brian would come back and worry where I was. I hoped the Castro was like West Hollywood. It was. I stepped out of our hotel and walked down Castro Street over to where it intersected with Market Street and there, if  I stood and turned 360 degrees, I saw mobile units, open and ready for business, parked outside the more popular bars and clubs. Within an hour, I had my answer and felt better. I walked the mile or so back to the hotel, this time noticing and appreciating the sights and sounds around me. I got back to the hotel and stripped back down and this time gratefully welcomed sleep. 

I awoke to the scent of cigarettes and whiskey and sex and the feel of Brian’s stubble on my neck. I squirmed to get my arms free and wrapped them around him. “Mmmm. Hi.”

“Hi. Did I wake you? I totally meant to.” Brian was tipsy. 

“Yeah, I’m glad you did.” My voice was rough with sleep. 

“Door is locked and it’s…” He snuck a glance at the clock radio next to the bed. “2:30 AM.” I grinned into his neck and then bit it gently. He let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a groan and I bit him again. “I should shower.”

“No, stay here,” I whispered. 

“I reek.” He confessed as though he wasn’t pressed right up against my face, against my nose. 

“Yeah, I like it though and it’s not like you’re sleeping on our sheets. Stay?” He raised his head and looked at me and I tried to give him the most sultry look I could. He laughed and looked a little embarrassed - maybe because I was practically begging him or maybe because of how much he clearly turned me on - and shoved his face back into my neck and rolled me back and forth a bit. Sleeping had reinvigorated me and I showed him. 

We were leaving Saturday to beat the Sunday end-of-holiday traffic and we had requested a late check out and the next morning we drank coffee and packed before getting in the car. We drove back down The 5 - forsaking the scenic route for speed. We laughed and pulled our shirts up over our noses while we drove by the dairy farms, so much for those happy California cows. When we pulled up in the driveway, it was already dark thanks to those short autumn days and the house was lit up from all the lights we had left on timers. The glass walls magnified and distorted the light, making our house look like it was glowing. I couldn’t help but grin in response. I tried to symbolically leave all the difficult experiences of the past week in the car and take the many fun and wonderful memories with me as I got out and walked up the flagstone path and into the warmth we called home. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was my longest one yet! Thank you to everyone (still) reading. I love writing this series but I also have to be realistic with RL. I will probably post once per month at least until the semester ends. Sorry it can't be more frequent!


End file.
